


Just Like Old Times

by Marty (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Roof Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marty





	Just Like Old Times

When you were younger, a rooftop fight with your brother was almost a daily thing. Wasn’t a big deal. You’d come home from school and, usually, you’d see a note somewhere telling you to bring Cal to the roof right then, and you’d do it. You’d fight him and you’d usually lose, though as you got a little older you started getting closer to besting him.

You’re nineteen, and you rarely find notes laying around telling you to make it HAPEN anymore.

That’s why it’s so strange when you do find one—it’s almost unlike Bro to call you up to the roof at this point. Either way, you grab Cal and head up the stairs, stopping at the top to lean against the doorframe.

“‘Sup?”

You don’t see him, but you know he’s there. He doesn’t say anything, but he grabs Cal from beneath your arm, making you step back a little. You steady yourself and roll your eyes behind your shades, retrieving one entirely shitty sword from your sylladex and proceeding to get your ass kicked. You’re out of practice.

You lay on the ground a while, catching your breath and staring up at the sky. Laying out in the heat probably doesn’t do any good for the fact that you’ve yet to catch your breath, but when you start to move you realize that you’re actually fairly sore already. You’re going to get bruises. You don’t care, though, and you’re fairly sure he doesn’t either. You can feel sweat running down your face, though, so you move again, sitting up and using one sleeve to wipe your forehead.

He’s leaning against the air conditioning unit which, you noticed earlier, has been fixed. You’re surprised. It’s been broken off and on since you were twelve, so you expect that it’ll probably be due to get fixed again soon. He stands up straight and walks over to where you’re sitting, sitting down with you.

“Like old times, huh?” The corners of your mouth move upward just a little when you think of ‘old times,’ which really makes it sound like it was much longer ago than it really was. He nods anyway, though, and leans back, using his elbows to support himself despite the fact that the asphalt roof is probably hot as hell on his skin. He’s still catching his breath, the same as you. You lean back, the same way as him, making a bit of a face. You’re sweaty and it’s mildly disgusting, so you tug your shirt over your head.

You shut your eyes, eventually giving up on holding yourself up with your elbows and laying down, your back against the hot asphalt. It hurts a little, but you give yourself a moment to get used to it. It isn’t so bad. When you open your eyes, Bro is giving you an expectant sort of look, so you roll onto your side, facing him. “What?”

He still hasn’t spoken, but he’s facing you and you see one gloved hand move just slightly towards you and you put your hand on top of his. The skin that isn’t covered is hot, and even the leather of his glove has heated up. You realize that his hand is probably sweaty as hell underneath those gloves. He moves his hand again, this time to lace his fingers with yours.

You stay quiet as you shift closer, wincing when your elbow presses into a quickly-forming bruise on your side. Then your lips are on his and he’s wrapping his arm around you, pulling you flush against him and you’re wrapping your arm around his neck. He pulls his hand from yours and places it on your hip, then rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling him. He breaks the kiss and sits up halfway, pulling his shirt over his head, then lays back down underneath you.

He raises one eyebrow at you over the top of his shades when you don’t move or say anything, but he isn’t willing to break the silence either, so you lean back down and kiss him again. Memories of when you were younger, memories of this exact same sort of situation are fresh in your mind as you slide one hand down his side, stopping at his hipbone and rubbing little circles into it with your thumb.

The silence between you and him is long and drawn out before you speak.

“This’d be easier if we went inside,” you say after you break the kiss, mouth against his ear. He just shrugs, so you stand up. He stands up, too, almost before you do, and presses you against the cool metal of the air conditioning unit. You’ve grown taller in the past two years or so, you notice. You and Bro can look each other in the eyes—well, shades—now, without either of you having to look up or down. His mouth is against yours again, rougher, more insistent. He still hasn’t spoken. It isn’t quite as unnerving with Bro as it would be with somebody else. It isn’t as though he’s big on talking. He presses his mouth to your neck an you shut your eyes, grunting quietly at the sensation.

Then, abruptly, he pulls away. You open your eyes to see him pulling his gloves off, dropping them onto the hot asphalt. You’re thankful when his mouth returns to your neck and he’s biting and sucking and you let out an embarrassing little squeak and you feel him smirk. His hands are on your hips, fingers moving along the waistband of your pants, teasing, so you reach out and grab onto him, pull him close, press his body against yours, tugging his hair just a bit until he moves his mouth from your neck to allow you access to his neck.

Clothes are the biggest pain in the ass known to man, but you can feel through his jeans that he’s hard as a rock and he’s just being a tease for the hell of it. You do the same as he did, sliding your fingers along his waistband and being a teasing douchebag about it, tongue moving gently and slowly against his neck, hips rocking against his every so often.

He doesn’t make a sound, and neither do you, but you pause at the buckle of his belt long enough for him to say something if he really wanted to. He stays silent, but makes a face that you’ve learned probably means ‘get on with it already,’ so you undo the buckle and the button and the zipper, slipping your hand under the waistband of his boxers and grabbing his dick without hesitation. It’s been a long time since you’ve hesitated to touch him, and you don’t plan to start.

“You could’ve just asked for a handjob,” you say, giving your wrist a rough little twist and biting down on his neck. “Didn’t have to go through all the trouble of strife.” He raises one middle finger but still doesn’t say anything. “‘S what I thought.” You take your teeth from his neck and begin to use your tongue instead, finding enjoyment in the salty taste you get in your mouth.

His hips buck against your hand and you give him a squeeze, then take your hand from him altogether. He gives you a bit of a dirty look, and you raise an eyebrow at him. His face returns to the default expressionless mask, and you undo your own belt, button, and zipper, grabbing onto his hand and guiding it to the waistband of your boxers.

He slides his hand down and wraps it around your dick, giving it a rough tug and squeezing it. You grunt and bring your hands up, tangling your fingers into his hair and pulling, just a bit. He rocks his hips against yours and you thrust into his hand, pressing your mouth to his. He doesn’t wait long to part his lips, and you’re quick to push your tongue between them, tasting his mouth and letting out your first quiet moan at the way his hand movements get just the slightest bit rougher, the way his tongue moves against yours, the way he tastes.

One hand moves from his hair back to the waistband of his boxers, and you’re back to returning the favor he’s doing for you, hand wrapped around him, tugging gently, almost mirroring his movements.

He tastes like smoke and something else you can’t quite place, but it’s wonderful and you don’t think you can ever have enough of it. Of him.

After a short while of standing there on the roof, both of you shirtless, hands down one another’s pants, Bro pulls his hand away, and pushes your hand away from him, then drops his pants and his boxers to his ankles, giving yours a little tug. You follow suit, and you can’t help but feel a little ridiculous. You’re standing there on the roof of your apartment without any clothes on, getting a handjob from your older brother.

You let out a low hum when he presses his body against yours, his damp skin sticking to yours just a little as he wraps his hand around your dick and his. His skin is hot and you aren’t sure how long you’ll last with the way he’s pressing against you so hard and your hips are arching against him and you pull your mouth away from his, returning to his neck and moving down his collarbone. You’re determined to make him come first. He wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you harder against him, and you’re groaning against his skin and you almost don’t realize that he’s groaning, too.

His fingers tighten and your dick slides against his, and then you feel his come, hot and sticky on your stomach. He groans into your hair and you’re groaning, too, practically hanging off of him as your knees buckle with your orgasm. He pulls his hand away and you sink to the ground, leaning back against the air conditioning unit, trying to catch your breath.

He’s there with you after he wipes his hand on his own shirt, bringing his shirt with him to wipe off your stomach. Then his arms are around you, and he’s whispering into your ear.

“Just like old times.”


End file.
